 | Antony and Cleopatra |  |
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Enobarbus and Demetrius.Dem.
Not send to him, say you?
Enob.
No—he's at his pleasures; and that's
the business of the life of Antony. It were treason
to disturb him.
Dem.
Then let the world run loose, and all things fall
Into their first confusion!—Here I come
Dispatch from Rome, with tidings that might shake him,
Though he were pillar'd as the base of Atlas!
Enob.
I tell you, my worthy friend, while
Antony and Cleopatra are at their revels,
though every minute were hung with the weight
of a province, and every province were to drop
call the music.
Dem.
Antony cannot, sure, be so unsoldier'd;
So deeply an Egyptian!—I do tell you,
His half of this great world, in monstrous cantlets,
Falls hourly from his grasp—There's not a day,
But, in the want of a more powerful hand,
Or wiser head to rule, some new adventurer
Starts up to signiorship—All, all is faction,
All broil and lawless contest; where the scum,
As in a heated cauldron, boils to the top,
And gives us up the vilest of the vile,
To station and command.—You must awake him!
Enob.
Not I, by my troth; let him e'en take
his nap out. Why, what is Antony to me, more
than the world to Antony?
Dem.
I am not known to him; but they do say,
'Twere pity of him!—a most generous master,
A free companion, and a stedfast friend;
And, as they tell me too, for soldiership,
He stands up peerless!
Enob.
The truth is, were he half as wise of his
head, as he is valiant of his hands, you should not
meet his fellow in a ride of five leagues.—Or, did
he love the Commonwealth of Rome, with the
tythe of the passion he has for an Egyptian petticoat,
I would not exchange him, in the article
of government,—no, not for the monarch, whom
Jupiter, in his bounty, sent to the frogs.
Dem.
He must not then be lost.—I tell thee, friend,
And they but wait, or his, or my return,
With their joint interests to support his state,
Or let him tumble!
Enob.
Well, well; in a week or so, if we can
get him apart, we may work wonders.
Dem.
A week?—I will not bide a day, an hour.
I'll back to Rome, and rid me of my errand!
I'll let his friends all know their false dependence!
Enob.
Patience!—the man is not really so much
to blame, as those may imagine who have their
wits about them. He is fettered to Afric with a
stronger chain than that which holds Enceladus.
Not all the filtres, which the hags of Thessaly
compound beneath the moon, may compare with
the power of this Egyptian sorceress. Nor was
the invisible net, in which the strong god of war
was taken, half so subtle as that, in which my
master Antony is now entangled.
Dem.
'Tis strange and pitiful; and so, farewell
To my commission!
Enob.
You are so hasty—a little longer now, I
pray you!—Stay but till you see this wonder of a
woman, that you may have somewhat to talk of
when you grow old.—They are but out in the bay,
and are now on their return.—But hark! a post
comes in.
Whence are you, fellow?
Post.
From Parthia, to my lord.
Enob.
What is the news?
Post.
The pacquet tells.
[Gives a bundle.
Without, then—keep in waiting.
[Horn sounds, Post enters.
And you, from whence?
Post.
From Sicily, with letters to the emperor.
Enob.
I shall remember.—
Wait within hearing.—Here's thick news, Demetrius.
Another!—
[Horn sounds, Post enters.
Post.
This for the emperor.
[Delivers a pacquet.
Enob.
From whence, I pray you?
Post.
From Sicyon, with deep tidings.
Enob.
The emperor is at hand.—Step you apart,
And tarry within call.
Dem.
That they should come thus thick, each
upon other! 'tis wonderful.
Enob.
The custom, sir, the custom. They
come thus hourly; even as the winds, from all
quarters, and as little regarded. The minions of
Cleopatra take in the several pacquets, from
states, islands, empires; and with these she curls
her hair, or sends them in hampers to her cooks,
to put under the pies, and keep the venison from
scorching.—But look, Demetrius! See where
they come!—The golden Cleopatra and her
Antony, booming, like Amphitrite and her Neptune,
down the spring-tide of pleasure!
SCENE II.
Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendants, are discovered in a splendid galley; soft flutes playing. They sail down to the front of the stage, and then go off through the side wings.Enobarbus and Demetrius converse apart.
Enob.
Step you aside, Demetrius, while I
prepare for your audience.
[Exit Demetrius.
Antony and Cleopatra, with Attendants.
Cleo.
I know ye, I know ye. The loves of men are fitfull;
And while the fever's on, your oaths would pluck
The planets from their orbs!—
If you do love, indeed,—tell me how much?
Ant.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
Cleo.
I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.
Ant.
Then you must needs find out new heavens, new earth!
Enob.
Emperor!
Cleo.
'Tis Enobarbus.—
He calls—Go to him, my lord.
Ant.
Psha!—mark him not.
Enob.
Antony!
Ant.
Ha!—who names Antony?
Enob.
I say, Mark Antony!—It was once
a name, that neither the first Cæsar, nor the
ashamed of!
Ant.
What say'st thou, Enobarbus?
Enob.
We are begirt with messengers, posted
from every corner of the globe.
Ant.
It grates me!—Bid 'em wait.
Cleo.
Nay, hear 'em, Antony;
There may be danger else!—
Perhaps the beardless Cynic, the boy Cæsar,
Has summon'd you from hence, and cries, “Come Antony!
“Or else we damn thee.”
Ant.
How, my love!
Cleo.
Call in the messengers.—As I am Egypt's Queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Cæsar's homager.—The messengers!
Ant.
No messengers, I say!
Let Rome in Tyber melt, and the wide arch
Of the rais'd empire fall!—Why live the gods,
But to enjoy?
A world of care had not been worth my winning;
Did it not give a Cleopatra to me,
I'd cast it to the kites for carrion.
Enob.
Emperor!
Ant.
No more!—
Enob.
You sleep upon the brink!
Ant.
No more, I charge you!
Cleo.
Soft, soft, my lord;
Pay meet submission to authority.
Trust me, the brow of your stern monitor
Begins to darken.
On occasion, love,
The bluntness of a friend does not dislike me:
Amid the palling of a thousand flatterers,
A little poignancy of truth, at times,
Is not unwholesome seasoning.
Cleo.
But then he looks on us with such a woefulness
of face, as though he had been brought forth
among the tombs.—Sure as the flowing of Nilus,
were I given to the sadness and sullenness of philosophy,
I would keep this same scare-crow, like
the mournful memento of a death's head, always
before me—
Ant.
Ay, my Queen, take him!
Though his honesty should prove useless, his folly will be diverting.
Cleo.
When that martial beard of his shall be
quaintly razor'd, he will make the prettiest kind
of Ganimede for paging a lady's toilet!
Ant.
Come, love!—what sport to night?
Cleo.
Nay, but in earnest, call the ambassadors.
Ant.
Fye, wrangling Queen!
Whom every thing becomes; to laugh, to weep,
To chide, to jest!
Who mint the misbeseemings of all others
To graces and adornments!
Thou art, thyself, the world of Antony,
Summ'd up of all that nature can afford
Of price or rarity!
Within thy presence, time, and occupation,
Should taste of nought but pleasure.—Let us forth,
The gravity of the age.
Cleo.
Pray you now, my Antony,
First, give the world its answer, and then let's to play.
Ant.
Then be it so.
Go, Enobarbus, bring in your obtruders.
Enob.
With speed, and a special good will!
[Exit Enobarbus.
Cleo.
Now I think on't again, it were matter of
pretty merriment to leave this soldierly politician
and his messengers in a maze.—How he will fume
and swear!
Ant.
Excellent sport!—away.
Bliss crown the night, and frolic rule the day!
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enobarbus and Demetrius.Enob.
Hey!—What's tow'rd us now, I trow?
—All gone, all vanish'd! The devil and his seductions!
Dem.
O—I do see, 'tis hopeless all—He is lost!
He drowns, and dashes back the officious hands
Who risque themselves to save him!—Rest you happy!
I'll straight aboard.
Enob.
But this one day, this hour; indulge
me yet, I pray you. Though she bury him in
the catacombs, or cover him up under a pyramid
trust me.
Dem.
It matters not—Perdition on 'em both!
Cæsar and Antony!
How this great vessel of the world does reel,
Beneath such rulers!—Was it then for these,
That the great Tully spoke, that Cato bled,
And our last Brutus struck?
Enob.
Nay, nay—if the people cannot chuse
but call out for burdens, I pray the gods they may
be properly blister'd. There was that very honest
hearted, but silly headed fellow, call'd Brutus,
whom you mentioned—he, forsooth, must impose
liberty upon his countrymen against their wills.
But, we paid him off for his impertinence, and
have given a future caveat to all such undertakers.
Dem.
Gods, gods!—O Rome, O honour!—Where, my friend,
Where is our country now? All swallow'd up,
In the wide ocean of unpaled licentiousness
That deluges mankind!—Shew me but one Roman,
One of the ancient stamp, of the old metal,
And I will pay my worship to the wonder,
And bend as to some god!—But, for this Antony,
He, of all Romans, is the most degenerate,
The deepest sunk from virtue.
Enob.
You wrong him, Demetrius, you wrong
him, by the gods! Twice has he doubled the exploits
of the great Xenophon, in the celebrated retreat
of his ten thousand Greeks; through Parthia,
conquer'd, he slew the consuls Hirtius and Pansa.
Dem.
I have heard of this.
But his late foils have dimm'd his former glories.
Enob.
But not extinguish'd, Demetrius.—Had
you but seen him, covering his little band, even
under his own courage! travelling through hostile
tracts, attended and begirt with a multitude of his
enemies; deserts before him, famine at his heels,
and all the elements in confederacy against him!—
Why, man, he browzed like the roe upon leaves
and bark, and quaffed the puddle that turned the
very oxen to loathing!—Yet his cheek lanked not.
By Jupiter, I think his step grew the firmer, and
the brow of his captainship more chearly elevated!—
We had nothing to live upon, but the confidence
and love that we catch'd from his looks; and his
courage served us all for armour and encampment.
Dem.
Pity, pity, pity!
Had he been born one hundred years ago,
He were indeed a Roman!
Enob.
And then, the sweetest companion—that
ever taught philosophy to play the fool! It were
your loss of a happy remembrance, to depart without
knowing him. But, aptly, here he comes.
SCENE V.
Antony enters.Enob.
My lord, permit me to recommend the
young Demetrius to your notice. He has been
the virtues practised of old; and is but lately returned
to the bosom of his country.
Ant.
You are welcome, sir, to Egypt—Egypt, too,
Was once the seat of science.—Have you aught
From Rome, I pray you?
Dem.
Letters, my lord, from Philo, Proculeius,
Decretas, Scarus, and the rest, your fast,
But much alarmed friends.
[Gives a pacquet.
Ant.
These, in their time.
[Puts up the letters.
What, of yourself, do you know—
The latest news, I pray?
Dem.
Sextus is lord of Sicily, and the sea;
And, in the swell of his great father's name,
Steps forth, as who should say, I would be foremost.
Ant.
A trifle yet. What more?
Dem.
The nature of bad news infects the teller.
Ant.
When it concerns the fool, or coward!
Things that are past, are done with me—'Tis thus:
Who tells me truth, though in the tale lie death,
I hear, as if he flatter'd!—On, I pray you.
Dem.
Albania and Iberia have revolted;
And the new king, the potent Artuasdes,
Lord of Armenia, now disdains the yoke
Of Antony and Rome!
Ant.
Amid a world, a few reluctant kingdoms
May well be spared, or soon retrieved.—What worse?
Dem.
So may the gods restore, as, like a god,
You hear of damages immense.—Know, then,
The half of your great eastern world is lost!
And, from Euphrates west, hath spread his banners,
Through Syria, even to Lydia and Ionia;
Whilst—
Ant.
Whilst Antony—you would say.
Dem.
O, my good lord!—
Ant.
Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue—
Name Cleopatra, as she is called in Rome;
And taunt my faults with such full scope, as truth
Or malice might suggest.
Dem.
The worst of tidings
Is, that your marriage with the Queen of Egypt,
Has lost you almost all the hearts of Rome.
'Tis said,
That matching thus, you have divorced your country,
And sunk her greatness in your own dishonour!
Ant.
Proud, proud Romans!—Now, ye gods! be witness,
'Tis Cleopatra has debased herself,
In wedding aught beneath your own immortals!
Not my great ancestor, the famed Alcides,
No, nor his father Jove, were ever pair'd
Like Antony—for nature rein'd her powers,
And spared her excellence, to lavish all
On the bright daughter of the house of Lagos!—
But come—We will indulge them in their envy.
The world that wills not I should taste of quiet,
Shall reck my being rouzed.
Enobarbus!
Your pleasure, sir?
Ant.
We must, with haste, from hence!
Enob.
Why then, look ye, sir, we kill all our women—
If we talk of departure, death is the word!
Ant.
Light answers fit not now.—Let our chief officers
Have notice of our purpose—I shall break
The cause of our expedience to the Queen,
And must have leave to part.
Enob.
The gods are lavish!
[Exit Enobarbus.
SCENE VI.
Enter Cleopatra, Mardian, Alexas, Charmian, Iras, &c.Ant.
Loth am I to give breathing to my purpose.
Cleo.
Now do I know, by that same Roman there,
There's some new colour found, to varnish falsehood.
You would be gone—is it not so, Mark Antony?
Why came you hither, to betray fond hearts,
With mouth-made vows, that break themselves in binding?
Let not the Romans say, 'tis I that keep you—
I have no power upon you!
Ant.
The gods can witness—
Cleo.
Nay—pray you, seek no colour for your going,
But bid farewell, and go.—When you sued staying,
Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Bliss in our lifted brow; no part so poor,
But was the breed of heaven—They are so still;
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turned the greatest lyar.
Ant.
Will you hear me?
The strong necessity of the time commands
My services awhile.—
Cleo.
I know, I know it.
That you have staid so long, there rests the wonder.
For what are Roman oaths, tho' nail'd in heaven?
I would it pleas'd the gods I might rejoice;
For you and I must part—but that's not it.
Yet you and I have loved—but that's not it.
Perhaps you know—Something it is I would,
But cannot—
O me!—Oblivion is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten.
Ant.
Quarrel no more; but, like yourself, support
What fate lays on us—By the living fire,
That lights up nature! I do go from hence,
Your husband, soldier, servant, making peace
Or war, as you affect.
Cleo.
Ah, Antony!
Have I another lord to guard my weakness?
Or where, else, shall my orphan'd little ones
Look out to find a father?—But, no matter!
Your honour, sir, your honour calls you hence,—
Therefore be deaf to our unpitied wailings;
And all the gods go with you!—On your sword
Be strew'd before your feet!
Ant.
O—then I feel,
'Tis time to break at once; or we are both,
Both lost, for ever!
[Going, Cleopatra suddenly throws herself on one knee, and catches his robe.
Cleo.
Ah! would you,
Would you, indeed?—Would you then leave me, Antony?
Ant.
But for a season, dearest!—to return,
With rapture multiplied.—
Even as the bow, when strain'd against the temper,
Shoots swifter to its mark!
Cleo.
I could not bear it—
Fancy was not prepared for such a ruin!
You will not—must not,—cannot!—
Ant.
Help, Demetrius!
She winds about my heart!—Help, Enobarbus!
An engine grapples me at every limb,
And every engine is a Cleopatra.
Cleo.
Do, cruel Romans, wrench him, tear him from me.
Fly, Charmian, call my children to assist me!
[Exit Charmian.
Since that the cords of love are not of force,
Let those of nature bind you!—Bring my children.
Ant.
Great father Hercules, confirm your offspring!
SCENE VII.
Charmian enters with Alexander and Cleopatra.They run to them.
Cleo.
Will you not kiss your play-fellows, my Antony?
One parting farewell from your Cyprian Queen,
And little Macedonian?—Come, my prattlers,
Help me to hold a truant husband here!
Alex.
We'll warrant you, mother.—Do you go
on one side, Patty, and I'll keep on t'other; and,
if he offers to stir, we'll hang to him like a pair of
bobbins.
Ant.
Oh!—if there are fathers here—
They will excuse me!
Cleo.
There bind him fast, and chain me down this Mars,
Even with the links of his paternal love,
Forged on the vital anvil of his heart!
Ant.
Shame, shame on manhood!—infants overmatch
The force of Antony.
Cleo.
Why shame, great sir?
Were you the Jove, and seated on Olympus,
Could your Latona bring to your embraces,
A brighter pair than these?
Ant.
No!—Ye are all my pride, and all my empire!
Demetrius, flout not at a soldier's feelings.
'Tis such a love, as I do bear to these,
Our world is rent thereby—we have loved away
Kingdoms and provinces; and now the spot
I press, is haply all that's left on earth
Of Antony's domain!
Trumpets sound, Eros enters.
Eros.
Tidings, great emperor!—
Your lieutenant, Sossius, has reduced the two
kingdoms of Iberia and Albania to your obedience,
and sends you the crown'd heads of the two revolted
monarchs.
Ant.
Then we are still a king!
Trumpets. Scarus enters.
Scar.
Tidings, most mighty Antony!—Your
lieutenant, Canidius, has recovered all Armenia;
and sends, to adorn your triumph, their boasted monarch,
the haughty Artuasdes, with one thousand
of his nobles, in chains of gold.
Trumpets. Three Messengers enter.
1st Mess.
Hail, emperor! the traitor Labienus,
With his apostate host of recreant Romans,
Lies in the field of death.—So sends Ventidius.
2d Mess.
Hail, glory of the Roman name!—Pacorus
Takes his last sleep in Syria, and the ghost
Of Crassus is appeas'd. So sends Ventidius.
Hail, sovereign of the earth!—We bring, from Parthia,
Rome's captive honours, and her drooping eagles,
With twenty scepter'd hands, in golden shackles,
And half the treasures of the gorgeous East.
This sends the great Ventidius.
Ant.
So—fortune's in the mood to save us trouble,
And leaves but little of the world to win.—
Proclaim for Sossius and Canidius, each,
Through Alexandria, a three days ovation!
But, for Ventidius, a full jubilee,
And triumph of a moon!—To all our friends
We destine realms, rich tracts, and fair domains;
To all our servants gifts; to all our slaves
Enfranchisement.
Cleo.
The Jove of affluent heaven
Alone can match the bounty of our emperor,
His substitute on earth!
Ant.
High in the center of the market-place,
Set me two thrones of gold, where we may crown
This sun and moon, our son and daughter here,
Twin emblems of the two bright luminaries,
That light the world.—
Our Alexander here, we do create
King of Armenia, Media, and Phænice,
And Cœlosyria.
Our filial Cleopatra here, we crown
Queen of the blest Arabia, breathing odours;
Devote and sacred to the power of beauty.
Cleo.
Let heralds trumpet, through the lands of Egypt,
That, for the space of one and thirty days,
All occupation cease: during that term,
I feast the nation.
Ant.
Demetrius, does your purpose bend to Rome,
Or would you stay, and share our power in Egypt?
Dem.
My noble lord, I am, as you were, once,
My country's property—I must to Rome.
Ant.
Should you e'er seek a friend, look on this toy—
It will instruct your search!
[Gives a jewel.
Dem.
Most bounteous Antony!
May I be warranted, without offence,
To tell you bold, but wholesome tidings?
Ant.
Speak!—
It were a task, at such a time as this,
To put us to ill temper.
Dem.
Your colleague, Cæsar, and the senate, talk
Of citing you to Rome; and, on refusal,
To vote you shorn of all your governments,
And the arch enemy of the state.
Ant.
Cite me?—The foe they vote me, they shall find me.
I shall not fear, no more than Julius did,
To pass the Rubicon—So tell the boy Octavius.
When Rome shall dare to whisper such a sentence.
Expect me at your gates!
[Exeunt.
| Antony and Cleopatra | |